


Trickster

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This had to top Ironhide's list of bad ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trickster

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently my Ironhide is a dirty old mech.

Watching the twins spin around each other on the practice floor had been a pastime for the Autobot regulars, long before waking up on the derelict Ark.

Sideswipe thrived on the attention. He loved the way mechs swarmed to his side. To congratulate, to compliment, to flirt. He always demured with a smirk, threw his arms around a couple of mechs, and lead the crowd out. Sunstreaker had growled, at first, about how much better he was. Better looking, smarter, more deadly. He still would bitch, if anyone stopped to listen. The reputation now proceded him; no one ever stopped to linger behind Sideswipe's grand exit.

Well, Ironhide mused, no one that Sunstreaker noticed. The old mech wondered if anyone else in the security detail trained the cameras down on that lone body after the crowd had gone. He wondered if anyone else had figured out how to trace Sunstreaker through every fluid movement as he worked himself against an invisible opponent. Ironhide doubted it. He had to be the only one this stupid. Spin, kick, punch. Repeat in an ever-changing pattern until Sunstreaker _had_ to stop. At the end of his workout, Sunstreaker often stretched, arms up, plating flared for cooler air, against the far wall. Just where the camera could train down.

Ironhide kept his own systems steady and quiet. He had an all too easy time picturing what that mustard menace would look like under him. Arms held down, stretched out just like that, flat on his back, legs spread, valve open and wet, waiting for worship. Ironhide covered his face with his hand as Sunstreaker left the combat hall, finally. The yellow twin would go right to his quarters now. This voyeuristic habit of Ironhide's was perverted. And still...

What better way to silence all that hubris than a spike sinking between those elegantly molded lips? Or replace the noise with gasps of pleasure? And then mingling his own in there... Feel that body clenching around him, making _that_ mech writhe and beg while Ironhide drove him into the ground.

Switching the camera to the cycling rotation it should have already been on Ironhide leaned back in the station seat. This would be a long, long shift. And it wasn't like the real Sunstreaker had ever fragged anyone to Ironhide's knowledge. The mechs that left with Sideswipe weren't interested in his twin.

And it looked like Sunstreaker _wanted_ it that way.

* * *

"Hey, c'mon. Twins're at it again," Hound said, tugging on Ironhide's arm as he passed the old veteran in the recreation hall. "Mirage just commed me. We hurry, we'll catch the finale."

"Don' they ever jus' run drills?" Ironhide muttered. He let Hound tug him out of his seat. It had been too long since his last vid feed, let alone a live show. Sunstreaker had been laid up since Bruticus had pounded him into the asphalt of an airbase somewhere in Nevada.

"Of course, they do," Hound laughed. "When they don't have an eager audience. It's nice to watch real heavies go at it without personal risk."

Ironhide wasn't so sure he wasn't at risk. His sanity had to be slipping. Sunstreaker couldn't even be half his age. And looking across the crowd, studying every back and forth exchange, Ironhide still didn't understand why no one stayed to listen to Sunstreaker. If only for a chance at getting inside him, surely someone would put up with the bluster? Heavy-build frontline warriors were built to run long and hard.

Watching the play fight dance across the floor, Ironhide noticed again that Sideswipe's red contrasted sharply against the bright yellow-gold. The old mech wondered if his own darker red would do better; create a flushed luster in the young warrior's plating, perhaps. Ironhide almost didn't notice when the crowd broke and left with Sideswipe.

Almost, he stayed behind. Optics closed, Sunstreaker leaned against the wall, casually ignored. Watching the young mech venting hard, Ironhide's body tensed with want. Wouldn't be so much to walk over there and just grab the brat, would it? Pin him down and kiss him hard. Ironhide turned as Sunstreaker opened his optics and walked slowly after the horde. Setting a hand on that body probably meant losing that hand, and old Ironhide just didn't know if he could duck that fast anymore.

Oh, but did he dream.

* * *

Sunstreaker was in the practice hall by himself again. Ironhide locked the corner monitor there and ignored protocol for a time. The golden warrior flowed across floor like living poetry. Never a motion wasted or fumbled. Ironhide wanted to hear the mech's fingers scramble across the floor for purchase as he was taken again and again. Ironhide really should stop this.

But frag him, if Ironhide wanted to stop dreaming about fragging Sunstreaker. He wanted to run his hands over that warmed plating. Dip between Sunstreaker's seams to tease the current flowing in his wires. Open him up and tease the mech's wet valve until his thighs and aft were slicked. Then Ironhide could push himself in, and watch Sunstreaker come apart around him.

Maybe he could borrow Prowl's cuffs. Sunstreaker had looked too damned tempting the one time Prowl had needed restrain the temperamental kid. Rumor painted it like a common happening, but rumor painted Ironhide as everyone's favorite uncle.

And here he was, abusing his authority to watch one of the three youngest members of the crew. For self-abuse fodder. If he was anyone's uncle, he was the one grabbing cousin Crankshaft's new mate's aft at the bonding ceremony. Ironhide groaned to himself, optics on Sunstreaker's restless motion. He spared only the barest attention for the other monitors.

Maybe if his one-time steady frag buddy wasn't currently in a relationship that looked like it was permanent now. Maybe Ironhide could get this out of his system by a little creative fantasizing during real time fragging. But, then, who could he frag for a night or twenty? Wheeljack? Windcharger? Prowl?

Ratchet did not share, so Prowl would not be an option. Windcharger was trying to hook up with Bumblebee, so that let him out; one did not play games with special operations mechs. Wheeljack had cast an optic on Skyfire. That mech's size kink would get him hurt one day, but Skyfire acted like the settle-down type, and Wheeljack deserved that.

That left Ironhide alone with his hand and a personal collection of not so naughty memory files he _really_ wanted to turn naughty. Still, the young warrior was beautiful to watch.

Cuffs. Ironhide had been thinking about Prowl's cuffs. Sunstreaker on his knees, hands cuffed behind his back, mouth full of Ironhide's spike, sucking and licking. Or Ironhide could have Sunstreaker lie on a bunk, spread open, Ironhide kneeling on the floor beside him so he could lick that wet valve.

Ironhide wasn't like anyone's uncle. It had been so much easier to cope with his attraction on Cybertron. But when his frag buddy had stayed behind and he'd gotten stuck here with Sunstreaker, Ironhide had practically heard the countdown to disaster start.

* * *

Sunstreaker sat beside his brother while the red twin held court. The Earthbound Autobots had collected in the recreation hall around Sideswipe like iron filings around a magnet. Ironhide had taken up residence at the table in the farthest corner to watch. Too much time spent watching both twins, albeit one in particular, told Ironhide that it wouldn't be long.

Sunstreaker did not like crowds.

Tapping his digits on the table, Ironhide had long since lost track of Jazz and Smokescreen's conversation. He belatedly noticed Tracks had joined them only because Jazz's laugh cut through even Ironhide's focused, detailed imaginings of Sunstreaker gasping while Ironhide made a _thorough_ inspection of the young mech's valve with his mouth.

"Old buddy, ya glare any harder, Sunshine's gonna burn up," Jazz snickered. He wagged a finger at Ironhide. "What'd Sun do now? He's the purest spark here."

"'E ain' 'bout t' be. Temper's 'bout t' give over there," Ironhide said, waving over at the group around Sideswipe that pressed closer to Sunstreaker, trying to get him out of the way.

"He's got a point," Smokescreen chuckled. "Sunstreaker's lookin' ready to blow. Maybe someone should intervene. Spare Prowl some trouble?"

Ironhide could intervene. Drag Sunstreaker off to the rec supply room not far down the corridor. Get him on his knees, and get him to open his mouth... Ironhide shook himself, sitting up. "Prolly. Show's a lotta fun, though."

"You just wanna get the mech in trou-- There he goes." Tracks vented. As Sunstreaker shoved one of the Aerialbots that had been too close. "Ironhide?"

While he was off shift, Ironhide was part of the security detail. Grabbing Sunstreaker redirected his anger. Sideswipe grabbed Fireflight, tugging him back, with the same result. Ironhide rumbled, "Don' cha dare let tha' fist 'it m' face, kid. No figh'in'."

Holy Primus, the kid's plating was hot to the touch. Ironhide pulled him along. Sunstreaker shoved him back, hissing. "Let go of me, you old r--"

"Sunstreaker, fer once, shut up." Ironhide could shut him up. Watching his spike slide between those lips would be so much better than hearing the mech's complaints.

Jazz put a hand out, silently asking if Ironhide needed help. Sunstreaker settled to sulking under Ironhide's hand, and the old mech shook his head. The crowd had resumsed its press around the preferred twin, incident forgotten. Which Sideswipe probably intended; the twins really did love one another. "Y' gotta learn t' walk outta crowds without someone draggin' ya."

"You're not getting me in trouble?" Sunstreaker asked suspiciously.

"No. C'mon," Ironhide muttered and pushed Sunstreaker ahead of him. All the trouble was going to come crashing down on his head, not Sunstreaker's. Ironhide had lost his mind, so it might not hurt much. "Why y' do this t' yaself? Y'know they crowd Sideswipe."

"None of your business," Sunstreaker growled. He shoved away from Ironhide to glare. Ironhide's body missed his heat already. "I'm goin' to my quarters."

"So Ah ain' good 'nough t' fill in, eh?" Ironhide asked with a smirk. He should be the one walking away, not Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker hissed, turning to face him, but Ironhide was right there, catching the fist Sunstreaker had meant for his face. Sunstreaker snarled and yanked his hand back. Ironhide didn't know how he kept his hands to himself, after. "Stop that. Ah ain'cher enemy, Sunstreaker."

"Everyone is," the young mech growled. He turned and a stalked away. Ironhide watched him, remembering the heat of the kid under his hand.

Ironhide decided he had lost his mind.

* * *

This time, he had caught them on the way to the practice hall. Ironhide watched across the top of the crowd, and he patiently waited the red twin and his crowd of admirers out. Sideswipe drew their attention so easily. Leaning against the wall, Ironhide waited for Sunstreaker's optics to open. That intense gaze found him, narrowed, then slid away.

"Go 'way," Sunstreaker muttered.

"Ah don' wanna," Ironhide said slowly. Pushing clear of the wall, Ironhide sauntered closer while a still rational part of his processor threw up red flags on his behavior. Ironhide had begun to scare himself. "Workin' a good charge, there. Be a shame t' spend it all wearin' y'self out on shadows."

"Well, ain't no one here for it," Sunstreaker scowled at him, arms crossing. The young mech didn't run, though, and Ironhide wished he had. Stopping in front of the mech, Ironhide lifted a hand to cup Sunstreaker's jaw. Ironhide let Sunstreaker knock his hand away and rocked back on his pedes.

"So, y' wouldn' consider workin' on that charge with me?" Ironhide admired the nice, round O-shape Sunstreaker's surprise made of his lips. Ironhide really hoped Red Alert wasn't paying attention to the practice hall right now. "Take th' edge off ya better'n wearin' y'self out."

"What are you playin' at, old mech?" Sunstreaker demanded. But he didn't back away. Ironhide reached out, knowing he should not, and drew his hand up Sunstreaker's side. The bright plating burned under his hand, hot with charge. Sunstreaker shivered, and he grabbed Ironhide's arm, near his elbow.

"Sensitive spot?" Ironhide murmured. He exerted just enough force to begin moving his hand again. Standing so close, Ironhide's own sensory net reacted to the young warrior's heat. The yellow-gold armor did flush with the reflection of Ironhide's dark red. So very pretty. "Ah ain' playin', Sunstreaker. Ah jes' really wanna share a good frag."

"You think I'd frag you?" Sunstreaker asked quietly. The kid placed his palms flat to Ironhide's chest. Optics narrowed with amusement; a slow, smug smile pulled at Sunstreaker's mouth. Ironhide focused on those lips, thinking about how they would feel.

"Y' like workin' tha' charge alone?" Ironhide lowered his hand along Sunstreaker's body until he could wedge it into the seam between Sunstreaker's pelvic and thigh plates. He stroked the femoral cables, and Sunstreaker shuddered. A tiny grunt of sound escaped the young warrior. It hit Ironhide's audials like high grade. "Much better with company, y'know. An' Ah know all kinds a tricks."

"Aren't there regulations?"

"Don' tell me y' care 'bout those? There's few 'nough of us lef' that ain' 'oldin' out forever, anyway. If ya really don' wanna--" Sunstreaker cut Ironhide off by grabbing the old mech's head and pulling him close for a hard kiss. Ironhide shoved Sunstreaker back, deepening the kiss until Sunstreaker's back hit the wall. While he fought Sunstreaker for dominance, Ironhide sent a flagged lock sequence to the door. It wouldn't save his aft from the mauling, but it would take Jazz or Prime to interrupt them.

Sunstreaker shoved him back, and Ironhide grabbed one of the kid's hands, yanking him forward. They toppled to the ground, and Ironhide rollled them over. Landing between Sunstreaker's thighs, Ironhide grabbed Sunstreaker's aft and pulled until Sunstreaker's pelvic armor clanged against his. He dropped his weight on Sunstreaker and grabbed one of those upswept audial farings to hold Sunstreaker still. He suckled at the young mech's throat structure, and Sunstreaker moaned.

The young warrior's hands roamed Ironhide's body with clear erotic intent. Groaning, Ironhide reached between them, cupping the burning array to tease Sunstreaker's body open to invite him inside. Thighs spreading wide, Sunstreaker's pedes dug for purchase so he could push his slick valve against Ironhide's hand and body. The old mech, running hot himself, trailed his mouth down the bright plate and listened to Sunstreaker's gasps. Ironhide decided he sounded good enough to eat.

Nipping lightly then soothing abused sensors with a soothing lick, Ironhide paused to thoroughly explored Sunstreaker's abdominal seam with his mouth. Ironhide kept his grip on that lovely faring, pinning the golden warrior down, awkward and stretched out. Sunstreaker growled; his hands pulled too hard for comfort at Ironhide's shoulders. Ironhide rubbed his hand over Sunstreaker's valve, spreading the thick lubricant up and over the membrane. Swiping his thumb beneath it, Ironhide stroked up until he found the little node there.

Sunstreaker growled, and he bucked into Ironhide's hand. The old mech looked up from his thorough investigation of Sunstreaker's chest plate, grinning to himself as he slid two fingers inside. Ironhide felt the young mech's body clench. He felt the deep groan through his plating. Ironhide sat up, and Sunstreaker took advatage of the change to reach down. Grabbing Ironhide's hand, Sunstreaker began to frag himself.

Ironhide wasn't going to last long.

Finally answering his spike's demands for freedom, Ironhide pulled their laced hands away from Sunstreaker's dripping valve. The old warrior pinned the younger's hand down his own, both anointed by Sunstreaker's fluid. Releasing Sunstreaker's audial, Ironhide lined himself up and thrust in hard.

Sunstreaker's body arched, pedes scrambling to meet Ironhide. The golden twin's free hand pulled Ironhide down, claiming a hard kiss from the old warrior. Lust driven charge twisted Ironhide's guts, made him sloppy, but Sunstreaker didn't seem to care that the young mech would feel this tomorrow. His growls and moans encouraged Ironhide, drove him harder.

Sunstreaker's hands tightened to pain, and the mech gasped, breaking the hard kiss as overload broke inside him. His valve clenched down on Ironhide's spike. Glory shot lights through his optical feed, echoing the tiny lightning zapping him from Sunstreaker's frame.

Ironhide buried his face in Sunstreaker's throat, finding that one cable that had made the young warrior gasp with his mouth as he chased his own release. The tension snapped. Spent charge rolled over Ironhide, through him, and pumped his transfluid into Sunstreaker's heated, willing body.

Slumping in the aftermath, Ironhide slowly became aware of Sunstreaker's free hand running up and down his back. He still held Ironhide's hand with his other. Venting, Ironhide lifted his head to look down at the kid. The focus took longer to return to Sunstreaker's optics, and Ironhide grinned, just a little, with pride.

Ironhide had been right; interfacing had silenced Sunstreaker.

When real sense came back into Sunstreaker's face, the young warrior narrowed his optics. Then he vented himself. He brought his free hand down to trace the edge of Ironhide's cheek plate. His expression barely crinkled when Ironhide pulled out. Finally, Sunstreaker said, "It was better with company."

"Good. Then we can do this 'gain?"

"Well. If you can wiggle us out of a rulebook violation--"

"They migh' jus' look th' other way if they think this'll keep y' outta trouble," Ironhide murmured. Then he kissed the hollow under Sunstreaker's jaw. He had a notice from Prowl in his HUD already. They had better clean up and leave the premises. "C'mon. Wanna 'ave roun' two inna bed."

"Showin' your age, old mech," Sunstreaker said. Then he stretched enticingly under Ironhide. "You're lucky I wanna spare my finish."

Unwinding their hands, Ironhide helped them both to sit up. Ironhide really was losing his mind.


End file.
